


London of a Girl

by aderyn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cities, Detectives, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Heroes & Heroines, Love Letters, Personified Cities, Police, Sally Donovan & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Sally Donovan Appreciation, Sally and London, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally Donovan, superhero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London of a Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whitefang (radialarch)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, dear radialarch!
> 
> Title from "generations dreaming II", by London-born, Brixton-based Barbadian poet [Dorothea Smartt](http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/22847/29/Dorothea-Smartt).

 

 

I’ll bet London penned him a love letter. When he came back, you know, fell into the arms of his sly-eyed brother, John Watson and his Mary, Greg too.

Sherlock shook her hand and they understood, shoulders-to, the fraternity of _you did what you had to_ , what your sharpness told you.

You saw. You even observed. It’s all right.

*****

Not sorry for the murders she closed, the years he was gone.

_What do you want to be when you grow up?_

Police, all she the ever said. Or superhero, cut-silk cape, mask, slip in secret to the dark places, save them all.

The other little girls wore dresses the green-black of starlings, spoke quick as magpies, a chattering.

She waited, watchful, saved herself for takeoff.                  

*****

London you are Sherlocked-- headlined, moonlit, hybrid-tea’d and table-candled.

But there’s her reflection in its glass, its eye.

There’s what can she do: Stop time. Fly. Once in awhile she does, goes up on the roof, looks out over the old eaves--detectives and heroes, monsters and gods—lives secret-decadent under the fog flannel. And she appeared once didn’t she, London all Thames-dark, cheekboned and high-collared, in the form of a young woman, to pass her a note in smoke, on air.

_Thanks to you Sergeant from the City, you and your tireless, tire-kicking boss._


End file.
